Friday, April 20, 2012

A Friend Of Mine Said

Annotated to correspond with speech, not the rules of writing.

“Within a day I will sunder all of my electronic gadgets for
failing me, continuously, contemptuously. Freed of their domineering
distraction, I will be halfway through my book, which would have been hailed a
master piece, when the demons of this universe express their will and my pen
breaks and paper disintegrates for no reason. I will then write a freestyle
poem, in blood, on my bathroom mirror before the expense of blood kills me. The
poem will confuse, startle, enlighten, and terrify the day’s religious and
philosophical thinkers. History will mark it as humanity's first 4th dimension,
or hyperpoem. I shall be snuggy in my grave, happy to have dropped another
distraction & finally gotten out.”

“Now, if I am a child of God, His work, then desecration of the
self is the highest insult. Actually, the only one available to me, in that
case. Spite is often mistakenly wasted as contempt or dislike. Keeping the same
body & soul, just using them to express “I disapprove of you”. Distant is
preserved. Spite, properly, is invasive. The literal spit to the face. I don’t
dance around like an idiot then at the end dedicate it to my memory of you. To
spite, one must welcome in the dark & perverse. Transforming the whole body
& soul. Then taking that foul talisman & inserting it directly into the
other’s mind. A ruination of past work, current peace, & future hope. To not
meld into but become another awkward appendage, which is a strike against their
grace, and let the foulness infect them. Transforming them, now, into all those
hated things.”

Continuing in the same hum of conversation

“I hate the approach especially, but all of dating. He must
be dressed right, be in the right place, & say the exact right thing in a
precise right way. Meanwhile, she gets to stand back, giggling, pretending her
every bend & twist is a delicate sonnet to be carefully unfolded. Her plain
words a gift to this brute, a rainbow All-Path, that could lead to her tender
heart. He appeals to this divine judge, asking his worth, that if perhaps she
would graciously allow, he could accompany her. She, in turn, invites him to
play a game within a maze. And thus madness.”

My cup was empty but I couldn’t break this.

“In my mind I have this construct but that is a poor word
for it as it’s not always all physical; corporal. I speak in metaphor and
simile, attempting to convey through language’s poor tools the blueprint of
this construct. So that you may build it & see or hear or feel or whatever it
is that I do. Then all these people respond with a snarl in the literal.
Nothing is more frustrating. They have shattered all bridges connecting us,
leaving me an island unable to even relate that frustration. They are somehow
the mainland. And even when talking in a one-to-one relationship they look
around at support, as though phantom encouragement were being piled under them.
And I have breached some terrible protocol. What I presented was not a gift but
a perverse tapestry depicting the deflowering of God. Why do they morph my
intentions? Why distort their vision to see evil?”